The Dark Time of Angels

by Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

In The Dark Time of Angels, Pier Giorgio Di Cicco continues the exploration of spiritual themes that he began in the critically acclaimed The Honeymoon Wilderness, which Michael Redhill in The Globe and Mail called, 'a startling and beautiful work.' Personal yet universal, Di Cicco's poetry is marked by a lyricism that is unflinching in the face of chaos and contradiction. In a world of suffering, he identifies faith in the oddest places and joy in the smallest things. The Dark Time of Angels is a powerful testament of hope, by one of our finest writers.

96 pages, Paperback

First published October 1, 2003

Reviews

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

gabriel in the dark,
blowing your horn
what do you say to me in
fanfare, dropped pencils, birds
arraigned on eaves, news of the dead,
your notes, how
I have heard you all my life
corralling the stars and things,
inaugurating cities, dreams,
installments of illusion. you would I
were deaf for all the mistaken;
tireless trumpeter, whom I wear on my
arm like a hawk, whom I blast in my head
like foreboding,
saving that great tune for last,
the gatherer of all contralto, my grief,
my bad conscience, my sublime.
you will weave them all into a meaning
that wakes God, and he will put his hand
on my neck, and bid me sleep
out of my mournful life.

- Gabriel, pg. 11

* * *

you want me to talk about
my faith and I come out sounding like
the catacombs. alright;

I collect things,
like blood and tears.

I live where wine
becomes blood and bread, flesh.

it's fantastic, not as preposterous
as having an idea of who I am.
I was spared that
when I learned to beg;

so many voices
without interpretations.

we all drink with one tongue
warbling the
foul note of need.

reduced to
thirst,

like a soul scratching to be let in.

to live or die;
that's about it.

and I have dreams in which
I find you,
your weak heart shouting
love me for who I am;
and that sounds fair enough,
like a balloon of words above your slender
and forsaken arms
my wife, my lovely world,
you.

- Ad Hominum, pg. 30-31

* * *

look, exchanged for,
blood and muse. dead, for life,
love for fathering.

look, so much exchanged for -
hanging face for spirit,
sex for animus,
dawn for heartache.

exchanged so much for
Him, cool afficionado,
limb-taker, cup-savager,
my very own dandy locks
for leave-taking. anointer.
fear Him.
He knows and loves you
cooingly, rips open stars and
entrails,
like a music. you will not hear
this making
of you. you will not hear
the soul branded,
what flower you
will be, awakened.

- Supplanting, pg. 89

* * *

Here are two stars, in different colours.
Here are the northern lights, opening and
shutting their lattices. Here is warm snow,
and stones in the wavelets,
trees lit and unlit.
My hands unlatch the night.
I walk through to the altar,
the madonna on my right,
in the chapel breath.

It is my breath, the stars an exhalation.

- The Prayer, pg. 92